falling over the objects there and casting shadows, as in the
real world, with distances and depths like the real world, and
recesses more secret and fascinating. Sometimes, pressing
Ms forehead into the wooden frame until it ached, he had
felt that if he could just break through into that little world
where everything was motionless but seemed about to move,
where everything was living, it seemed, but at the same time
frozen in its tiny perfections, he would know the most
unutterable bliss. Then, slowly, he would take the frame
from his eyes and remove the card from the clamps. He
would inspect it: the flat, dull, fading picture printed in
duplicate, the frayed, yellow edges of the cardboard. No
life would be there, no depth. That card which he held in
his hand, then, would be a part of the ordinary world in
which he was living. He would look about him at the
familiar furniture of the room; at the fire failing now in the
grate, perhaps; at the pattern of the carpet on which he lay.
There would be the slow, somnolent, saddening sound of
water murmuring and chinking in the gutters, or the sound
of wind finding the corners of the house and the recesses of
the eaves. Soon, they would come and get him and make
him eat his supper, even if he wasn't hungry, and then they
would put Mm to bed. The stereopticon cards would be left
stacked in a neat pile on the table in the deserted living-room.
That was the way it had been. He had taken the card from
beMnd the lenses, and there was only the flat card which he
held in his hand. He looked toward the lighted window,
where May was now, and thought of that, and how he had
felt when he was a child.
But she had not changed. She was as she had always been.
Whatever change there wasóand there was a change, she
was right when she accused Mmówas in Mm. He knew that.
He had known it first that day when he had refused to
promise to send a negro up to prepare the flower beds for her.
He thought of how she had moved away from Mm down the
path, how her small shoulders had drawn together in the
contortion of a silent sob, and how he had stared down at